


magic, madness, heaven, sin

by adaptation



Series: The Undone and the Divine [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimjobs, Sorry Ilmater, Stupid Bisexual Babies, Technical Adultery, Temple Defilement, Virginity Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaptation/pseuds/adaptation
Summary: They are building a temple to the god of suffering and Will has a boner.





	magic, madness, heaven, sin

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to build a temple when Ashton keeps strutting around with his shirt off. He does his best though, sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of the building’s skeleton, the Spire of Gaia plunged into the ground in front of him like a totem. It takes a lot of concentration to form a building out of local flora, and the sheen of sweat on Ashton’s tanned shoulders, the appealing flex of his muscles as he lifts a log that has to be three times Will’s weight—let’s just say Ashton’s not helping as much as he thinks he is. Then again, they are building a temple to the god of suffering.

 

Will would laugh, if he wasn’t busy suppressing an erection. 

 

At least the work goes smoothly, when he’s able to focus. When he can fade out the fact of Ashton lugging timber around him, and focus on the feel of the earth, pulsing and alive beneath his fingers. It feels like breath and light passing through him. There’s no concept of passing time, only the cool dirt against his palms and the seeping of power out of him like an exhale. 

 

Each time he opens his eyes again, something new has happened to the temple. It’s gone from bones when he arrived that morning to an almost building by the time the sun sets. Vines of all species have erupted from the ground, shaping walls around the framing Ashton had built, and nearby trees have bent toward the building, offering more coverage, and the shape of a second floor. With more concentration, more time, he knows he could have made the entire temple just out of the nearby trees, no assistance needed. But Ashton’s a busy man these days, and this isn’t the only temple he’s building. Besides, what good was a temple to the god of endurance if you didn’t sweat a little building it?

 

Speaking of which, by the time they call it a night Ashton’s not the only one looking a little wet. Will’s been sitting on his ass all day, but he’s still flushed, his hair clinging to his sweat-damp forehead, his tunic sticking to his chest. He starts to climb to his feet and Ashton offers him a hand. The paladin pulls him up like it’s nothing, and Will, knees aching and locked from sitting so long, stumbles into Ashton’s shoulder.

 

It’s not the first time something like this has happened. They travelled together for a long time, after all. There was a lot of partial nudity over the course of that year, whether it was due to bathing in a stream after a trek through somewhere particularly dirty, the need to bandage an awkwardly placed wound, or just readying themselves to retire to their tents for the evening. But through all of that, they were never alone. Even when it was just their core party, they still had Luna and Mialee nearby.

 

It’s different now that it’s just the two of them. There’s a tension and awareness buzzing between them. It feels almost like the thrumming of the air when Will calls up an element, except this—this he can’t control.

 

Ashton is so close. Will can smell the salty tang of his sweat, the sandalwood hint of whatever he washes his hair with, and the ever-lingering scent of sun-warmed plate metal. 

 

Their eyes meet, and he could swear he sees a flash of expectation in Ashton’s warm, tawny brown gaze. But then he remembers a similar expression crossing Ashton’s face that time he took Will on a very exciting dump date at the Waterdeep carnival, and Will forces himself to step back.

 

Will dunks himself in the nearby stream while Ashton tends dinner, and then they swap places. Ostensibly, it’s so the food doesn’t burn, but mostly Will just wants to avoid seeing Ashton sopping wet  _ and _ half-naked. He poured so much into the temple that day, he’s not sure he has the self-control left that situation would require.

 

They chat over dinner in the way they couldn’t while working, with Will’s focus so important. It’s been six months since they’ve seen each other, since Will’s seen any of the party, actually, but Ashton saw Mia not too long ago, and he’s been corresponding with Luna about her wedding plans. Guilt zings through Will at this news—partly for so blatantly failing to reach out to his friends, and partly for the other thing. The time he got married and didn’t tell anyone. 

 

Still hasn’t told anyone. Still doesn’t plan to.

 

Regardless, it’s good to see Ashton. Good to be around him, even if it’s a little awkward, just the two of them. The months since their battle with Imryth can’t have been  _ that _ relaxing for him, because he’s still just as mouthwateringly chiselled as he was back then, but the lack of danger has made him more lenient with his dress code. Will never would have guessed that the only thing keeping Ashton clothed was the fear of being attacked. He put a shirt back on after his dip in the creek, but it’s a loose-fitting tunic with a wide-open collar, almost hanging off one shoulder. Most of his collarbone is bare underneath, and in the dim light of the fire and the fading sunlight Will can see the scar left by the remorhaz at the base of his throat. The skin there looks pink and delicate, and he wonders if it’s sensitive to the touch. If Ashton would shiver if Will traced it with his tongue.

 

For the sake of having some cover while they sleep, they head into the half-formed temple with their packs. Will is content to let Ashton pick their sleeping spot, and follows him up the stairs he’d built that afternoon to the second floor, which will have a balcony overlooking the first at some point, but is currently more of a loft. The walls are less walls than extra-sturdy vine curtains with windows vaguely shaped out of bark and greens, and the ceiling is only half there, but it gives them a pretty great view of the Faerunian stars.

 

Will lays his pack gently on the ground and starts untying his bedroll as Ashton does the same a few feet away. Distantly, he wonders if it’s weird that neither of them made a move to sleep in separate rooms. He’s too wiped out to dwell on it, so he toes his shoes off and pulls off his tunic; it’ll be too warm under the bedroll to sleep with his shirt on.

 

“Will.”

 

His name is low and gravelly in Ashton’s throat, and it settles with a clench of desire in Will’s abdomen. He schools his features into neutrality and glances over his shoulder.

 

Ashton is, once again, shirtless, but this time he’s dry and clean. His shoes are gone, and his linen pants are hanging low on his hips—low enough that Will can easily trace the tempting vee of muscle that disappears into his waistband. Will doesn't realize how long his gaze snags there until he has to drag it away to meet Ashton's eyes again.

 

It’s only when Ashton steps toward him that Will fully turns to face him, his head cocked in question. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Ashton to touch him.

 

In the eighteen or so months that they’ve known each other, they’ve made physical contact numerous times, but only in the most perfunctory of ways. A handshake, or a clap on the back. A hand up from a sitting position, or a palm pressing down on a wound. Only the fleeting or the absolutely necessary, and never in a way that could be called  _ intimate _ .

 

Here, when they’re alone in this half-built temple, loose with exhaustion and the freedom of the night-dark sky, Ashton lays a careful hand on the curve of Will’s neck. 

 

His palm is searing against Will’s skin. When Ashton shifts, sliding his hand up so his fingers can brush the ends of Will’s too-long hair, the sword hilt calluses on Ashton’s palm drag sweetly against his flesh. Goosebumps pepper down Will’s spine. Only when his chest starts to hurt does he realize he’s stopped breathing.

 

Ashton takes another step toward him, and Will’s senses light up like Goldenfields’ torches at night. It’s stupid, the visceral reaction he has to Ashton’s nearness. Stupid enough that he murmurs, “I’m hallucinating.”

 

“No, you’re not,” he hears. And then Ashton kisses him.

 

It takes longer than it should for Will to register what’s happening. Ashton’s lips find his, and for several long beats they’re both stock-still. Will’s afraid to move, afraid if he does Ashton will realize what he’s doing and what a huge mistake it is. But Ashton doesn’t pull away. Just the opposite; he adjusts slightly, brushing Will’s lower lip between his own, and the pad of his thumb brushes the hinge of Will’s jaw.

 

Tentatively, Will raises his hands to Ashton’s hips. His fingers settle there, thumbs pressing into hip bones, and he tugs the paladin the rest of the way forward, until they’re flush against each other. Ashton’s skin runs so hot it almost feels like they’re standing next to the fire again. It's so deliciously distracting that Will doesn’t notice Ashton maneuvering his mouth open until he feels a tongue drag across his bottom lip, and Will… Will’s so fucking gone on Ashton he actually  _ moans _ .

 

He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so hard.

 

The gutteral noise seems to spark something in Ashton, because suddenly he’s angling Will’s head back and sweeping his tongue through his mouth. Will’s grip on him tightens. He wants to touch, to feel those torturous muscles working under his fingers, but doesn’t want to push his luck. If he startles Ashton out of this, he’ll never forgive himself.

 

There’s a muffled rumbling somewhere, and it takes Will’s kiss-addled brain a long few seconds to realize it’s Ashton—he’s  _ growling _ , and, fuck, Will stores that sound away, certain he can come just from the memory of it. Ashton’s mouth tears away from his only to drag a heated path down his jaw to his throat. Will’s head falls back, his needful panting too loud in his own ears, and it throws him off balance enough that one hand flies up to grasp Ashton’s shoulder—and the other drops to his ass, pressing fingertips into the delicious curve of it.

 

Like a reflex, Ashton’s knee wedges between Will’s thighs and Will gasps. He ditched his smallclothes after washing and the hard ridge of Ashton’s thigh rubs his linen pants rough against the thin, sensitive skin of Will’s cock. Somehow, it only makes him throb with want. “Shit,” he exhales, and it’s like a dam breaks inside him. Suddenly, he can’t shut up.

 

“Fuck, Ashton, I need—” He doesn’t know what he needs, because he needs everything, all of it, every bit of Ashton, all at once. “Just— Shit, you’re so—” Ashton takes pity on his babbling and steers him back into a kiss, and this time Will melts. He sighs against Ashton’s mouth, going warm and pliant in his arms. 

 

His hands are done being passive, though. One slides up with smooth curve of Ashton’s spine and the other down the other side, reveling in the expertly sculpted ripples of his abs. His finger flirts with Ashton’s belly button, and he feels the other man’s breath stutter against his mouth. Then he goes for it.

 

Sucking Ashton’s tongue into his mouth, Will presses the palm of his hand against the front of his linen trousers. He cups the hard line of Ashton’s cock, rubs along it like he might pet a cat arching its back. His free hand twines into Ashton’s hair and tugs gently. Ashton shudders, his whole body, like an earthquake from within, and the noise that comes out of him is a goddamn  _ whine _ . It reverberates down Will’s spine and settles in his dick with a rush of heat.

 

“Let me, please, Ashton—” He squeezes gently. “—let me suck you off, I need it.” Ashton nods jerkily and with one more lingering kiss, Will drops to his knees.

 

He unlaces the knot holding the pants up, and is about to hook his fingers into the waistband and tug, but hesitates. There’s an extremely tempting abdomen directly in eye line and he detours to press a kiss, hot and open-mouthed, to the delicious spot just beneath Ashton’s belly button. The muscles of Ashton’s stomach jump in response, and Will smiles against his skin, then skates his tongue into the dip. Ashton’s hands, which have settled on Will’s shoulders, flex in response.

 

It’ll be a shame to blur his vision, but this will go better without lenses in the way. He pulls his glasses off and tosses them vaguely in the direction of his bedroll. Then he eases Ashton’s pants down, the backs of his fingers skimming his thighs. He goes slow, gives Ashton every opportunity to tell him to stop, but he doesn’t. The only sounds are their quiet, heavy breathing and the soft slide of skin against skin until the linen pools on the floor around Ashton’s feet.

 

Will would like to say he took a moment. He’d like to say that he sat back on his haunches and committed the image of Ashton’s cock, hard and ready, to memory, so that he can call upon it when jerking off for many years to come. But he doesn’t. He dives in, burying his nose in the crook of Ashton’s thigh and inhaling deeply. It smells like warmth and linen, from his pants, underscored with the musky scent of arousal. It’s all Will can do to keep from shoving one hand down his own pants.

 

“Gods,” he curses, and curls his hand around the shaft of Ashton’s cock. The skin is shockingly soft, velvety, and so hot he wants to make a Searing Dawn pun. He only manages to stifle the urge by putting his mouth to better use.

 

It’s been too long since he’s done this. He hasn’t been with anybody, male or female, since before he met Ashton, and his jaw muscles are out of practice. He’s trying to give Ashton the best blowjob he’ll ever have, and his goddamn jaw is aching. He ignores it, curls a steadying hand around Ashton’s hip while the other reaches between them to palm at the paladin’s balls. Will’s tongue molds to the curve of Ashton’s shaft, dragging along the thick vein on the underside of it, up to the sensitive spot just beneath the head. Then he wraps his lips around the crown and sucks like Ashton has basilisk antivenom in his dick.

 

He allows himself a quick glance up and sees the muscles in Ashton’s jaw tense, like he’s holding back. The other man is panting hard through his nose, but his teeth are clenched together, and this just isn’t acceptable. He’s had enough Put Together Ashton to last him a lifetime. Tonight, Ashton’s coming apart.

 

Will pulls a hand back just long enough to direct one of Ashton’s hands into his hair, and then he goes down. All the way down. His jaw is already sore, but he forces it to relax and takes Ashton as deep as he can get, until the blunt head of his cock is nudging the back of Will’s throat. He almost gags, and his eyes start to water with the effort of it, but he swallows and takes a deep breath in through his nose, and pushes forward that last little bit.

 

Ashton gasps raggedly above him and almost doubles over, strong fingers fisting in Will’s hair. Will gives a muffled groan of appreciation. His eyelids flutter shut with the sensation of having his throat so full of Ashton, the sweet ambrosia scent of him filling Will’s lungs. Ashton exhales Will’s name. His hips make an abortive little jerk, like the primal part of him is itching to fuck Will’s mouth but the rest of him won’t let it. Will wants him to let it.

 

He’s not willing to pull his mouth away to tell him so, so Will hums appreciatively around the base of Ashton’s cock, his lips vibrating with it. Then he grips Ashton’s hips tightly and directs him. In a way, it reminds him of Ashton showing him how to use his scimitar to block a sword attack.

 

Don’t get him wrong—having Ashton so close, breathing hard and sweaty, is a cherished memory. But Will likes this better.

 

Ashton’s fingers tighten around Will’s hair so hard it almost hurts, and, finally, he relents. He thrusts once, twice, into Will’s throat, and then spills. Warm fluid fills Will’s mouth and throat and he doesn’t swallow until Ashton has pulled out. As he withdraws the head of his cock, one last pearly bead of come catches on Will’s lip, and Will’s tongue darts out to catch it without even thinking about it.

 

The paladin blinks down at him, panting and looking oddly stunned. It's stupidly endearing. “Sorry,” he exhales. 

 

As Will stands, he feels a goofy smile pulling at his swollen, spit-slick lips. He’s still unbearably hard, but getting Ashton off has given him an unexpected resurgence of patience. He’d give up orgasms forever if he could just keep giving them to Ashton.

 

“For what?” he teases. “Making all my illicit dreams come true?”

 

For a guy who couldn’t bear the thought of cinnamon on his oatmeal until a few months ago, there’s remarkably little hesitation before Ashton pulls Will into a deep, filthy kiss. Surely Ashton can taste himself in Will’s mouth, and if Will thought he was hard before, he was sadly mistaken. All the blood in his body rushes to his dick, and he would swoon if Ashton didn’t have such a good grip on him.

 

It’s unfair that Ashton affects him like this, and Will doesn’t believe he even tries. He just  _ exists _ and it’s life-ruining all on its own. He wishes he could make Ashton feel even a fraction of the desire in him, the tiniest zap from the bolt of lightning want Will feels when he sees the other man lick his fingers clean after a meal.

 

That’s the thought thrumming through Will’s mind when he drags his hand down Ashton’s chest and lets a trickle of Call Lightning seep out of his fingertips and across Ashton’s nipple.

 

Ashton inhales sharply against Will’s mouth, and his motions still as he processes exactly what just happened. Will’s fighting a smile when Ashton pulls hard on his hair, yanking his head back, and then bites down hard on the muscle along the side of his neck. Will whimpers like an overstimulated teenage virgin, fingers scrabbling against Ashton’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Then Ashton steers him back into a kiss, a sweet apology for the bruise he’ll surely leave.

 

“You wanna fuck me?” Will breathes. Ashton’s fingers tighten possessively on his hips and he nods into Will’s throat.

 

“Yes. Yes.”

 

It takes more strength than it should for Will to disengage from Ashton. His body mourns the loss of his touch as Ashton’s fingers fall away, Will sinking to his knees to reach for his pack. Ashton joins him on the floor this time, after shedding his pants. Will stuffs a hand into his bag, rummaging for the jaw of coconut oil he’d used to shave that morning. He has to shave every day. He’s not like Ashton, he doesn’t look hot when he gets scruffy. He just looks like he’s failing at puberty.

 

It does come in handy in situations like this, too.

 

His fingers nearly close around the jar, but fumble when Ashton reaches around his waist to pull his drawstring out and shove his pants over his hips. Finally, he gets a good grasp on it. He yanks it out of his back just as Ashton yanks on his hips. He stumbles forward onto the rough canvas of his pack, Ashton’s strong hands spreading over his lower back. 

 

At the feel of Ashton behind him, Will’s patience evaporates. He leans onto his elbows. He just has to get the lid off and then he can get ready. He can finger himself open, he’ll make it quick so they can get to the good part, he just needs to get Ashton inside him.

 

Ashton is, apparently, on a different page. His hands drag down to Will’s ass, fingers digging in and pulling his cheeks apart like he’s breaking open a peach. His thumb brushes Will’s hole and a harsh, shuddery breath falls from Will’s mouth.

 

He can feel Ashton’s breath on his sensitive skin. The heat of it makes his cock throb. He drops the jar of coconut oil, his right hand delving down between his legs to wrap around himself. He squeezes, begging himself to keep it together, and then Ashton’s tongue licks a long, searing swipe over his hole.

 

Ashton dives in like a man starving. His fingers flex against Will’s ass as he laps at that tight ring of muscle, coaxing it loose. His tongue skates a few millimetres in; Will whines, and Ashton groans. Will fists his hands into whatever he can find, his bedroll, his abandoned tunic, and when Ashton starts to fuck him in earnest with his tongue, it feels so good Will’s nearly sobbing.

 

He’s going to have beard burn on his ass and he does not care.

 

When Ashton pulls away, it’s simultaneously the most devastating and the most sympathetic thing he’s ever done. Will collapses, panting, onto his shoulders, his cheek pressed against the cool wooden floor. He takes a minute to breathe, to talk himself back from the ledge of orgasm. Then the lid of that jar hits the floor and a cool, slick finger presses into him.

 

Ashton did such a spectacular job licking him out that he takes the first finger easily, and the second with only a twinge. Ashton is slow and careful with him in a way that surprises Will not at all. Will manages to hold off on touching himself for a remarkably long time given how badly he wants to come, and when he finally gives in and moves to start stroking himself, Ashton bats his hand away and does it himself.

 

The calluses on his palm offer a different kind of friction than Will’s ever experienced, and he shudders with the sensation. Ashton’s draped half over him to keep on hand on his cock while he carefully scissors Will open. On each outstroke, the sweet press of Ashton’s fingertips against his rim makes Will’s breath catch and his dick jump in Ashton’s hand.

 

“Ashton, shit,” he curses. One hand delves down to cover Ashton’s, to trace the paladin’s fingers as they drag along his shaft. He can feel the insistent press of Ashton’s cock nudging against his thigh, hard all over again. “That’s so good, I need—”

 

Ashton knows what he needs. He withdraws his fingers, ignoring Will’s low moan of protest, and a second later they’re pressing in again, freshly oiled. The third finger is harder to take, even with Ashton’s patience, but Will still rocks back onto Ashton’s hand until he’s knuckle-deep. 

 

After a year and a half of wanting, even that’s not enough.

 

“Fuck me, Ashton, _ please _ .” 

 

“Will,” he exhales, fingers squeezing deliciously around the head of Will’s cock on a downstroke. Obligingly, Ashton pulls his fingers out of him, and the reality of it hits him: Ashton’s actually about to fuck him.

 

“Wait.” He blurts it out, and feels Ashton go deathly still behind him, hands paused on his waist. “Where are my glasses?”

 

There’s a stunned silence as Will turns over, kicking his pants the rest of the way off. He’s so focused on getting naked and finding his glasses—there, by the pillow—that he almost doesn’t notice Ashton’s expression.

 

“Your glasses?” the other man says. The corner of his mouth quirks, either with irritation or amusement. Will can’t tell and is too focused on getting this show on the road to care.

 

“Are you kidding?” He pulls the arms of his glasses away from the lenses and slides them onto his face where they belong. “If we’re doing this, I’m damn well going to see it.”

 

Ashton lunges forward, pressing Will down into the floor. Will’s knees fall open and Ashton slots between them, bringing their lips together in a hot, needy kiss. Will arches involuntarily against Ashton. His hands find the other man’s shoulders, grasping tightly as he rolls up into his body. Ashton, propped up on one hand, fumbles with the other to slick his cock with coconut oil. 

 

The kiss breaks as Ashton shifts, looking for the right angle, and his breath is warm and damp against Will’s lips. Will lifts his hips. Ashton’s knuckles graze the cheek of his ass and the inside of his thigh as he shifts into place. Then there’s a long, careful press of sweet pressure and he’s in.

 

“Oh,  _ gods _ .” It’s just the head, and Ashton was gentle with him. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it’s intense; doubly so because it’s Ashton and Will’s been jerking off to the thought of this for a lot longer than he’d care to admit. “ _ Yes _ ,” he moans, grasping for Ashton’s hips to pull him in further. “Fuck, that’s perfect, just—”

 

Ashton rocks his hips and plants fully inside him, and Will’s head falls back with a low, appreciative groan. Ashton pants heatedly against his throat as he settles into a rhythm. He sighs Will’s name, the sound of it sinking into Will’s skin like the warmth of a hearth fire. 

 

If Ashton is nervous about this at all, he doesn’t show it. Will had kind of assumed he was a virgin, but what he lacks in technique he makes up for with sheer enthusiasm. He fucks Will like he was born to do it and everything else is just side quest. 

 

Will’s hands drop to Ashton’s thighs, gripping hard, mostly to avoid stroking himself off. Not that he doesn’t want to, but if he knows if he gets anywhere near his dick he’s going to lose it, and he can’t yet, not when he’s got such a great view. 

 

Ashton sits back on his haunches and bodily pulls Will’s ass into his lap. He doesn’t pull out when he does it, letting Will feel every shift and jostle, and when he takes Will’s hips in hand and pulls him up and back down again.

 

And Will thought the view was good before.

 

Ashton’s cheeks are sex-flushed, his lips kiss-swollen and damp. The pink blush extends down his throat and chest, almost to his bellybutton. Will indulgently traces it with his fingers, and then Ashton thrusts into him again, hard, and Will’s hand flies to his forearm for purchase. Ashton’s muscles strain under his skin, hot and tight. 

 

Will loses himself in the feel of Ashton inside of him and the way Ashton’s palm spreads over his abdomen. It’s only when Ashton’s breath starts to come quicker, his thrusts turning jerkier, that Will finally caves and takes himself in hand. He grips himself hard, firm pulls dragging out an orgasm that’s all too easy to reach. His other hand slaps to the floor, nails scraping the wood. The orgasm washes over him like an earthquake, rocking through his whole body. He splatters on his own stomach with a low groan, skin burning where Ashton’s deep brown eyes are fixated. There’s a gleam in them that Will’s never seen before, but he’s still getting fucked and now he’s oversensitive, so he can’t bring himself to study it. He’s too busy squirming on Ashton’s lap.

 

Ashton’s grip on him tightens as he tries to hold Will still, Will whining pleas and encouragement. His ears are so filled with his own nonsensical babbling that he doesn’t realize Ashton’s making any noise until his jaw actually falls open. He leans over Will, one hand grabbing his shoulder to hold him in place, and he jackhammers into him twice more before his groan reaches peak volume. He plants as deep inside as he can get, then spills. He looks incredible.

 

He collapses over Will then, barely managing to prop himself up enough for breathing room. They’re both sweaty and panting, Will’s shaggy hair sticking to his forehead. The air is thick with the scent of sex, and when Will lifts his arm to throw it over Ashton’s shoulders, his fingers brush something cool and leafy. A quick glance at the floor confirms that some kind of vine has sprouted through the wood and grown out in a web from the place where his hand had pressed.

 

“Oops,” he exhales weakly. At the word, Ashton stiffens over him, tries to pull away, but Will leans up and brushes a kiss over his jaw. “Not you. The floor.”

 

Only then does Ashton notice the flora now attempting to overtake the floor he’d just laid down a few hours before, and a soft smile pulls at his lips. He sighs and leans in, buries his face in the crook of Will’s shoulder.

 

Over the course of the night, Will learns one thing: paladin stamina is no joke. They fuck three more times before Ashton is finally wiped out and falls into loose, satiated sleep. Will doesn’t think he’ll be able to walk straight for a week after this, but, you know. Worth it.

 

Sometime before dawn, he awakens with Ashton’s arm slung low across Will’s waist, breath softly stirring the hair behind his ear. It’s perfect, and Will would fight Imryth all over again if they could stay exactly like this for the rest of forever. But Ashton’s busy building temples, and Will’s resumed his old life in Waterdeep, plus he’s married so that’s an issue. It all comes down to one fact: there’s no way this ends well.

 

So he carefully slips out of Ashton’s arms, puts his clothes back on, and gathers up his crap. He sneaks outside, and with the little magical energy he’s regained from sleep, he finishes most of what he’d intended to do for the temple. The sky is gray, edging toward dusky pink, when he finishes. Then he slings his pack over his shoulders, along with the Spire of Gaia, and leaves, Ashton still sound asleep inside.


End file.
